


gymnopédie

by diluc



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Classical Music, M/M, Translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24062446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diluc/pseuds/diluc
Summary: goro wants to shoot him with handel playing, goro wants to strangle him to mendelssohn.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	gymnopédie

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [гимнопедия](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23897212) by [north_venice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/north_venice/pseuds/north_venice). 



> author's note: done for a challenge, for a key saying "apology kisses."  
> translator's note: i feel like the coffin in the meme with some guys dancing . anyways i hope u enjoy i just like this fic

it's always an accident that goro keeps thinking of his hands.

their touches are unintentional, awkward, featherlight: reaching out to gloved fingers, to the seams of one another's sleeves, but surely not to the hair and certainly not the face. akira gets out a dusty, worn-out vinyl player made somewhere in china one day, and along with it a timeworn set of classical music; mumbles something under his breath as he tilts his head in response to the detective's shoulder brushing his. he calls for him once more, from the attic. goro abandons the fresh coffee brew to the sound of sojiro sakura’s hearty chuckle; goro sighs heavily. his gaze is remorseful, almost.

that way he attempts to look tragic. that way he attempts to look amicable; harmless. so each morning he stretches his lips with his fingers in front of a mirror - lifts the corners up, down, to the sides, and until they crack. sae glances over him courtly; mutters, savagely, something about a dead fish's eyes. but goro laughs, he fakes sincerity and stomps it into the dry asphalt with the heel of his shoe. he doesn't have the time to stare into the blurry reflection in front of him for hours - he does so for minutes, never tucks his grown-out locks behind his ears, and smears some concealer underneath his eyes. he laughs reservedly, laughs innocently, puts on a face like thunder, pulls the corners of his lips downward, pulls his hair out by force.

akira doesn't appreciate the masquerade at all - goro finds himself insulted, almost. goro always finds himself lying in a pool of his own vomit in the bathroom, almost, but luckily, everything goes well all the time.

he feels like an actor whose monologue was cut off; a jester, mayhaps, a joker. albeit, he isn't too intent on stealing others' roles.

akira tosses his (catless) duffel bag aside somewhere onto a heap of stacked cardboard boxes, puts the player down gently on the floor.  
"bringing garbage in here," sakura snapped, exasperated, words biting into his back, "is a hobby of his."

goro probably feels honored. that meant, birds of a feather flock together.

he climbs up the stairs noisily - yet akira doesn't even bat an eyelash when he comes in, akira is battling some wires and outlets - tediously, carefully, tiredly. goro stares into his stash of vinyl discs, uninterested; all so he doesn't have to look at the other's arms, so he doesn't have to look at the other's neck, so he doesn't have to hit himself in the palms - and of course, that doesn't work. maybe it shouldn't.  
akira exhales loudly, wearily and awkwardly moves his shoulders, a beast born on the line between trust and a readiness to get a swiss army knife from his bag. goro thinks of his hands, probably too frequently, but they look way too well around his neck. he doesn't enjoy missing opportunities. he stares at the pile of worn-out classical music vinyls, popping the buttons off his jacket.

goro wants to shoot him with handel playing, goro wants to strangle him to mendelssohn. for some reason, he fathoms german composers' scores are perfect for killing; instead, though, he crouches down and puts his hand on akira's shoulder, a gesture delicate and rotten centuries ago.

he doesn't even budge an inch. he feels bad for tearing his trousers crouching.  
the other's voice comes out wistfully and a tad sleepy. "i think we'll have to kill god."  
goro hugs him from the back. he thinks this idea beautiful, and like all aesthetically pleasing things, it is fated to rot away. well, that's for later.  
instead, he assures him, "surely now." laughs into the small of his neck, "if that's what we have to do."

he doesn't mind fistfighting god with his own two hands - akira likes imagining a mighty, enormous thing, and goro rather likes imagining shido instead of a deity. someone's hands on his shoulders and a picture of saturn. there's something inside of him that is revolted by art; wants to, with the candor of buddhist monks spilling gasoline onto their bodies, to burn the canvases and pummel bust statues into the marble floor. everytime kitagawa speaks, he feels his hand reach towards the silenced pistol - yet he tells himself it's but an instinct. it means positively nothing.

akira lowers his head because he's a good boy and whispers:  
"it's best to shoot point blank."

goro fists his hands into the fabric of his school jacket on his shoulder, and forcibly smothers a chuckle. it's their deal, as for by a terrible secret, a rütlischwur oath for two, - of course, not that akira gets that. as though he'd see it in hindsight, in the big picture.

goro pauses, and lets himself exhale, correcting the other suavely. "that'd be more merciful," he likes to think it's delicate, he likes to think it's affectionate. "but not any better."

akira exhales loudly; goro likes thinking about his hands grasping a pistol, grasping his wrists, grasping his neck; likes thinking of him in general, like the carefully-shot aperture in-between his eyes, widened and shocked. his neck, bent at a beautifully wrong angle. conversations of god instead of the question  _ when _ , conversations of god instead of the question  _ how long _ . akira knows about the gun in his suitcase, goro knows about the knives in his pockets.

he finds it charming, in its own way.

goro touches his neck with his lips gently - it means absolutely nothing, of course. he thinks he could never really appreciate schiller's poetry, but since it's been a cat out of the bag, goro thinks it won't be counted a treachery. alas, an apology is not a necessity; it is a liability by their vow.  
necessities include kisses and whispers, necessities include the other's hands.  
akira exhales loudly, now unbuttoning his own school jacket, fingers caught up with goro's. akira laughs a little when he reaches towards the vinyl nearest to him.

obviously, akira plays satie.

**Author's Note:**

> mendelssohn, handel, satie: composers  
> schiller: a german poet  
> rütlischwur: a legendary oath between three nations (i believe) that led to the foundation of switzerland  
> gymnopédie: a composition by satie. also an event in ancient rome
> 
> hmu on Twitter oho @mugemugemoo


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